


Certainty of Promise

by losyanya



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agnes Nutter knows what's up, Enemies and Lovers, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, One Night Stand, One Shot, why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losyanya/pseuds/losyanya
Summary: The eve before the execution of Agnes Nutter, the witch, Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer pays her a visit to verify the accusation. Or such was his plan. However, Agnes might be more knowledgeable about Plans.
Relationships: Agnes Nutter/Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13
Collections: GO Events NTA 7 - Rare Pairs





	Certainty of Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Name That Author round 7 (after dark) in the GO Events Discord, for the prompt of Rare Pairs (500 words or less).  
> I took the prompt as an opportunity to explore and experiment - thus the choice of pairing.  
> Many thanks to [werebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werebear) for the speediest beta reading session ever! Another thank you to [IsleofSolitude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude) for the title suggestion! And as always, thank to the GO-Events Discord server for the encouragement, support, endless warmth and positivity.

The door swings open the moment he makes contact with the wood, his fist briefly continuing an awkward wave through the air. The woman in the doorway looks unimpressed. The expression seems well practiced.

“Greetings! I am..”

“I know who you are, Thy-Name-Is-A-Lie Pulsifer.” Her voice is deep, authoritative and so matter-of-fact it leaves no room for either surprise or objection.

A faint smell catches the attention of Thou-Shall-Not-Commit-Adultery and he sniffs, wary.

_Is that… gunpowder?_

She steps back: "Coming in?"

Into the witch's lair?

Her nonchalance is unnerving, and he’s suddenly uncertain what brought him here, alone, in the evening. Some obligation to verify the accusation… he should’ve just trusted the Private.

But he’s here now. He’s well-armed (bell, book and candle, regulation issue) and… he’s got a hunch that he’s safe tonight. Not that he ought to trust intuition. Or witches.

Well, at least he will investigate the smell.

He doesn't.

He lets no substance pass his lips in the cottage, refuses the offered "water", ignores the eye roll. It's no use - the witch’s spells must be permeating the very air. The melodic voice is alluring; even more so is the obvious underlying intellect. It’s confounding—he’s used to fear or malice in the accused, but the witch shows only growing amusement. Her manner is hardly charming, and yet he is charmed all the same, spellbound by that self-assured confidence. Whatever he needed to ask is lost in the easy flow of conversation...

The dark brown eyes are close, and he can’t fathom how this proximity happened. Clearly foul magic is at play.

There was a question...

“Well?” She beats him to an inquiry. He knows the meaning behind the smile and the quirked eyebrow instinctively, and reason seems to flee.

“You called my name a lie, but it’s not so. I’m a Witchfinder, why would I…?”

“Because you want to, and I need no witchcraft to discern it. Can’t it be as simple as that?”

The silence reveals he’s hanging on the precipice, or maybe - already beyond.

"But why… why would you?"

She laughs, easy and dark, like thunder. "It's the last night of my life. Why _not_?" As if to dispel his misgivings— before he can remember he **_ought to_** have misgivings and then some—she adds, deadpan: “Come tomorrow, I’ll be burning at the stake. You need not fear my indiscretion.”

“What if **_I_** can’t carry this secret—my family, the Army— “ even to his own ears his faltering protests sound like a plea to be convinced. “What if I one day I say too much—”

"You won't."

The reply has the certainty of a promise, and he dives into it headfirst.

The crescent moon is high by the time he heads back to his lodgings, but provides little light. As told, he skirts along the north side of the village. As foretold, not a soul sees him. Just before he drifts off to sleep, a half-formed thought passes—he never asked about that smell..

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [losyanya](https://losyanya.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr - please feel free to chat with me about anything and everything!


End file.
